


Cold

by HSavinien



Category: due South
Genre: Camping, Cold Weather, Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-08
Updated: 2012-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-27 16:59:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HSavinien/pseuds/HSavinien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray is cold and it's Fraser's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the ds_noticeboard dS/C6D tag game. Set in season 3-4 before “Call of the Wild”.

“This is all your fault,” Ray tells Fraser. He is cold. He is sofuckingcold that he wouldn't be surprised if a penguin stuck its head in the tent looking for frozen fish sticks because it is cold enough to keep them rock solid. Fraser does that...patient thing, complete with the little sigh that says that Ray is being useless. Ray glowers at Fraser. His teeth are chattering like maracas at a taquería. Fraser's aren't. “Don't do that. You're judging me. I can hear you judging me over there. Do not do that. Just because not all of us grew up in the freezing North... Chicago kids do not go camping in subarctic climates!”

“It's really not that cold, Ray. Just get into the sleeping bag and you'll be fine.”

“No, fine is what I'll be when I check into a motel with a TV, hot showers, and an actual bed. It's November. This is not a camping time of year. This is not me being a wimp, Fraser, this is me being a sane person who doesn't want to wake up a Raysicle.”

Fraser looks likes he wants to argue, but glances to Ray's side for a flicker and just sighs again instead. “Ray, will you at least get in the sleeping bag and give it a chance? If you're still cold in thirty minutes, I'll say nothing more on the subject and you can spend the week in a motel while your building is fumigated.”

Ray considers the offer, then shrugs. He's _really_ cold and he's getting sleepy, which vaguely triggers some memory as a bad sign. “Fine, okay.” He squirms himself down into the puffy sleeping bag until only the top half of his head is sticking out of the cocoon. “Fine,” he adds. “But if I wake up with hypothingy, it's on you.”

Fraser agrees and starts on a story about a logger who had “A truly unusual gift for animal calls, his impression of a bull moose in heat was astonishingly accurate, Ray,” and Ray just lets the words wash over him.

Before he knows it, the only things left are the heartbeat hum of Chicago outside the tent, Fraser's voice, and _warmth_.


End file.
